Writings of The Big O
by Jenna Cosplayer
Summary: A collection of writing from Paradigm City.
1. Schwartzwald's letter

Even without the events of 40 years ago, I think man would still be a creature that fears the dark. He doesn't face that fear; he averts his eyes from it and acts as if he doesn't have any memories of his past. But 40 years is both a short time and yet a long time. Man's fear has withered, and even time itself tries to wither the desire to know the truth. Is it a crime to try and learn the truth? Is it a sin to search for those things which you fear? You poor souls who fear the darkness and the deep. When you suppress that fear you will be able to get close to the truth. There is but one truth. If you avert your eyes from it, you will always remain nothing more than a puppet. In the words of Schwartzwald, "Who is closest to the truth? Imagination and memory are but one thing which for diverse considerations have diverse names." My purpose in this world is knowledge, and the dissemination of it. And it is I who is to restore the fruits of my labor to the entire world. Don't you find it odd that there is only one man is this whole city who has the desire to pursue the truth? Fear. It is something vital to us puny creatures. The instant man stop fearing is the instant the species reaches a dead end, only to sink to pitiable lows, only to sit and wait apathetically for extinction. Wake up! Don't be afraid of knowledge! Foolish denizens of Paradigm City. So long as you exist together, continue to live your lives together in mass illusion, a single dragon will be born there. Yes that ancient mechanical dragon is a mirror of none other than yourselves you fools. The anxiety within you has no outlet. It has no past and no future. Each person's jealousies, their desires, their fears. Alone each may be a small part but together, they will become an enormous hole that will take shape. Humans who lose the ability to think become creatures whose existence has no value. Think, you humans who are split into two worlds, unless you want the gulf between humans to expand into oblivion, you must think!

Signed,

Schwartzwald.


	2. The Play

Roger: It was purely on a whim that I had latched onto the idea of making this broken down decaying bank building just outside the domes into my home. Or so I thought. But it seems that wasn't the case.

Norman: A welcome home to you master.

Roger: Master? What are you talking about? This is the first time we've met.

Norman: Yes I understand, my own memories tell me that as well. Never the less it is clear that you are the master I serve.

Roger: You really shouldn't go around deciding-

Norman: Might I ask your name sir? You see it is terribly rude to serve a man and not have any knowledge of his name.

Roger: My name is, Roger Smith.

Norman: Master Roger Smith than. Allow me, Norman Burg, as my responsibility warrants to see to both your care and its maintenance.

Roger: It? What do you mean it? HA! You must be crazy! Maintenance of what?

Norman: Master Roger Smith, that which I speak of by working with you I understand can be an instrument of God rather than a mere lump of steel. Forty years ago my memory was completely lost. Regardless, I have spent each and every day since diligently working on it so that it would not rust up and become inoperative. My only fear as the years past has been my growing old an feeble before the man I am to serve would appear. But today that fear is dissipating as we speak.

Roger: What do you mean it?

Norman: I have simply called it, "The Great Big O."

Roger: Big…O? Why do you assume that I'm the one who's supposed to team up with it?

Norman: Master speak its name into your watch and then you will understand. That's all you have to do.

Blackout.


	3. Another Light: Misc Schwartzwald

Let's just say if what happened forty years ago didn't exist, man would still be a creature that fears the dark. Fear comes from not knowing. He then averts his eyes from that fear and acts as if he never had any memories of his life, of his history, of the very beginning.

Do you think man can survive cut off from the memories of his past? He having no idea how long he's been there or where he's from and what he's connected to.

I've lived my life as a newspaper reporter. I uncover the truth I write in my articles. But then I learned all too well that a mere reporter like myself can't ever get to the truth in this city. It's nearly impossible, and it's unsure. No one here is even interested in learning the truth, a truth that must be known. But I want to know. I want to learn what must be known.

It wasn't just the people of this city who lost their memory forty years ago. The foreigners who sleep underground who came here searching for fragments of memories have lost as well.

Truth. Those who seek it out unknowingly become obsessed with this grand illusion that they are able to control this world. This tiny world. The incomplete book of Gordon Rosewater written in his younger days depicts the final days of humanity and the foolish humans who use the power of God.

You! You posses the foolishness of both man and machine. It chooses one who controls the power of God created by man, one who is able to arrive at one truth. That's not the case with you.

The giants who formed this world into its sensual existence and now seem to live in it in chains are in truth the causes of its life and the sources of activity. But the chains are the cunning of weak and tame minds which have power to resist energy.

I will have the true memories in my possession. All this time I was mistaken, but it won't be long now, for I realize what those memories really are.

Paradigm City. A grand ostentatious stage. And above it, secretly looking down on the folly of human blunders were not the ever expecting and comforting presence of Gods, but only this abandoned equivalent. This is a comedy! That which I was searching for! The true memories! THEY WERE…


End file.
